


season four but hayes doesn't die

by the_ocean_weekender



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Developing Relationship, M/M, Romance, see notes for triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:35:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21708331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ocean_weekender/pseuds/the_ocean_weekender
Summary: There's nine months between the end of season three and when Affliction/Divergence happens, which is long enough to develop a relationship, even between two disaster gays on a star ship.
Relationships: J. Hayes/Malcolm Reed
Comments: 10
Kudos: 30
Collections: Star Trek Holidays 2019





	season four but hayes doesn't die

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TiaNaut](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TiaNaut/gifts).



The first time it happens, it’s closer to fighting than it is fucking. It’s a long day, it’s a training session, it’s a warm body against his, it’s a war, it’s sex with a lot of excuses and anger and tension and neither of them quite know how to let _go_. The first time is meant to be the only time and then it isn’t, it’s the second time, the third, the fourth, the- Hayes loses count. Whatever’s between them isn’t really _anything_ , he tells himself, right up until the disruptor blast hits him and all he can think of is Lieutenant Reed.

He’s got no excuses after that.

He doesn’t see the Lieutenant again until after the war is ended. He was injured, yes, but the MACO Uniform protected him from the worst of it and- as Phlox informed him with a wide grin- the wound is tantamount to no more than a nasty burn and an ugly scar. Hayes has had plenty of both and not all of them physical; he sees out the end of the Xindi Crisis in Sickbay, on high alert for the snatches of reports that crackle across the comms and counting how many of his MACOs come through the doors. One comes in a body bag, two come in with minor injuries but that’s it, that’s it, that’s it and Hayes stupidly- _stupidly_ \- thinks maybe that’s it, maybe it’s all over, then they tell him Captain Archer is dead. His first thought is _oh_ and then _does Lieutenant Reed know?_ Of course he does, he’s the tactical officer. _Oh_ and then the timer on the IV beeps and releases more painkillers into his bloodstream before he has time to think anything else.

Lieutenant Reed doesn’t come into Sickbay until it’s officially announced over the whole ship that the war is over. “Hello,” Hayes greets him softly, unused to the sound of his own voice. It’s night time, which makes sense because things like this always are done at night; without being on heavy painkillers it’s near impossible for him to get to sleep with the sounds of other patients and Phlox’ animals all around him and he’s awake to see the doors open and the Brit strides= straight over to his bed. He nods in the direction of the ceiling and frowns as it makes the world spin. “Was that Captain Archer on the announcement, earlier? Because they told me he-“

“He wasn’t dead,” Reed cuts him off before he can say it, eyes flashing. “Private Forbes was the last casualty.”

The inhale hurts and he closes his eyes. Reed is still there when he opens them. “What’s happened since we left the Expanse?” Last he heard, they were orbiting Earth.

“That will have to wait until an official de-briefing I’m afraid, it’s a long story.”

“Ah, one of _those_.” Suddenly, head tilted back to the grey ceiling which is all he’s been allowed to look at for however long he’s been here, Hayes grows tired of it all. “Why the fuck are you here, Lieutenant?”

If the change shocks him, he doesn’t let it show, “To see you. I’m glad you’re not dead.”

He wonders if he always was, if, when they thought the Captain was dead, Reed had ever wished it was Hayes in the man’s place or himself. He would not be a good soldier if it _weren’t_ the latter, but if it’s the former, what does that make either of them?

Even mostly lucid, he has no answer.

“Careful, sir, that almost makes it sound like you care.”

“Well we can’t be having that.”

Is that genuine amusement he sees on Reed’s face? Whatever it was, it’s gone before he can even blink and Reed- who has never sat down- steps back slightly in the universal language of _I’m going now_. Hayes blinks furiously, wishing it were easier to _think_ ; his chest is throbbing and it’s not all to do with the wound over his heart. “What happens after we’ve gone back to Earth?” his question catches him before the other man can retreat to the foot of the bed and he pauses, head tilted as he considers the question and face carefully devoid of all expression.

“No doubt we will carry on the mission- five years is five years, after all.” Like the stars that pass by the windows when they’re in warp, that shadow of care darts across his eyes. “There are no plans to remove the MACO contingency on-board.”

It’s a question and it’s an answer. All Hayes wants to ask is ‘ _Are you staying on-board?’,_ the idea of which makes his skin crawl at being so vulnerable, so...

So he doesn’t ask.

If there’s disappointment on Reed’s face, his back is turned before Hayes can see it.

***

Earth, Hayes finds once he’s discharged from Sickbay, is Earth. He goes to see his step-mother, because she asked him to once he got back. He doesn’t ask where his father is but she tells him _he’s at work_ and doesn’t tell him _he knows you’re meant to be visiting_ and _he knows you were injured._ He doesn’t visit his mother. He has no one else to visit. He forces himself to use the transporter to San Francisco and refuses to look relieved when Reed is there to greet him.

“Lieutenant.”

“Eugh,” his nose wrinkles; Hayes doesn’t think he’s ever seen him do that before. Not that he’s been paying close attention to Reed; you just can’t help picking up on these little idiosyncrasies as a side-effect of sleeping together on the regular. “I’ve had quite enough of that from my father, thank you. Call me Malcolm.”

Despite himself, he can’t stop the corner of his mouth twitching up in a smile and tries to hide it by bending down to pick up his bag. “Call me Matthew.”

“You’re middle name?”

They walk out onto the sidewalk and fall into step seamlessly, anonymous in the crowds of uniformed cadets- a huge surge of applications to Starfleet Academy since the Xindi Attack, apparently. Before it even registers as an instinct, Hayes is scanning passing faces and buildings, waiting for the next bad thing to happen. “No one calls me by my first name,” he replies, the information an offering in return for that which Malcolm has just given him. “I always thought ‘Jeremiah’ was a shit name anyway.”

“Hmm, I always believed ‘Malcolm’ a rather stuffy name, but ‘Jeremiah’ is certainly bad taste.”

“Thanks,” scoffs Hayes but dammnit he’s almost smiling again because there’s no heat behind the words at all.

Relaxing is impossible with so many people around and the bandages still chafing against the zipper of his uniform, but as they get closer to the complex where various Starfleet and MACO personnel have been given quarters his shoulders relax enough that when a tiny dog barges across the sidewalk to yap at their legs he doesn’t flinch. It’s a cross of Corgi mixed with some spirited mongrel, smaller than the dogs he had had growing up but he still stops and bends down to scratch it behind the ears, following the red leash round its neck to where hangs from the handle of an empty stroller and a harassed looking man chasing after a child Hayes guesses tried to run after something. Despite the raised eyebrow, Malcolm doesn’t deign to make a comment and simply looks content to wait until he’s done and begins walking again without a glance behind to check he’s following. He _is_ , because however bad the next bad thing is going to be it can’t hurt to face it with Malcolm.

***

They both stay on-board the _Enterprise_. You might expect a war to change things but it doesn’t at all- there’s new faces to fill the place of old ones, old names he has to catch himself before calling new people, training, training, away missions, the transporter, training. The only marginal difference between now and the beginning is the lack of tension between Fleeters and Sharks.  
  


“We are assigned to the next away mission,” Lieutenant Reed tells him in the armoury before Hayes finishes his shift, handing over a padd. At a glance it contains the Sub-commander’s impeccable report of the uninhabited world and Archer’s comments about it being a holiday for everyone. “We are to take samples and camp on this section _here_ (he reaches over to enlarge the highlighted area of the map and his fingers brush over his hand just briefly, ending the contact before Hayes' can start to feel uncomfortable with the touch and he realises he mentioned once how he really doesn't like PDA and Malcolm must have remembered ) overnight to observe the area.”

 _Just you and me_ Hayes realises; it jolts down his spine in a bright yellow electric shock. Reed won’t have chosen him specifically- that would be unprofessional and he is not- yet they are going to be alone together and Reed sought him out now to tell him in person. Hayes would have to be completely oblivious to think that doesn’t mean something. The armoury is deserted he knows, by the undercurrents in his blood constantly tuned to his surroundings. It’s not a soldier’s instinct, it’s a child’s.

The armoury is deserted so he says, “You hate camping” which is not a fact he paid any attention to at the time, just another of those likes and dislikes that are unavoidable when you sleep with someone even if you don’t like each other.

“I hate camping, I hate holidays, I hate pollen, I hate unknown areas and I hate you,” Malcolm replies without hesitating.

It’s a struggle not to burst out laughing.

***

 _Oh shit_.

“What is it?”

...Did he say that out loud?

He makes sure he turns round before he explains. “There’s only one sleeping bag.” The look on Malcolm’s face is almost worth it. In the silence that follows, Hayes shifts his weight from one knee to the other and then offers, “I can sleep in the shuttle.” It wouldn’t be the comfiest place to stay, but he’s had far worse and if Malcolm insisted on coming down to the planet in the shuttle pod and not the transporter for the reasons Hayes suspects, he kind of owes him a favour. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Major, we’ll simply have to share.”

“Yes sir” and orders are orders, so he starts undoing his jacket and toeing off his boots, pulling his shirt over his head. Malcolm actually _turns round_ and Hayes does laugh, because only Malcolm would think of modesty when they’ve already slept with each other umpteen times.

The planet really is uninhabited, without even any animals or bugs to be wary of and it would be nice, if he was the type of man who thought of things as ‘nice’. Taking the samples the science officers requested took all of an hour and there’d been nothing to do but build a camp fire, eat their rations and understand each other a little better. Now they’re in their tent, in one sleeping bag- Hayes pauses and then decides to leave his uniform trousers on, unsure if fucking one’s commanding officer on a scientific away mission is considered unprofessional or not. 

A snort comes from the other side of the tent- he can just see the outline of Malcolm in the dark, the single lantern illuminating him like the curve of a moon as he crawls into the sleeping back. “You might as well take them off as well.”

Orders are orders.

 _Strictly_ because of the confines of the Starfleet standard issue sleeping bags does he have to throw a leg over Malcolm’s waist and _then_ dig his ass into his thigh as he twists round to do up the zipper. He hisses and Hayes smirks and asks (completely innocently) “Do you think Captain Archer also gets a bigger sleeping bag, seeing as he gets bigger quarters?” 

When the reply comes, it’s with Malcolm’s lips very close to his ear, his breath hot and his voice low and steady, “Archer’s the last person I want to be thinking of right now.”

The sex is by no means amazing- they’re in a tent, in a sleeping bag, on the cold hard ground of an alien planet and they have to be careful not to break the communicators or other equipment in the rucksacks by the flap of the tent, but it’s a warm body, it’s sex, it’s safe, it’s Malcolm, it’s familiar, it’s Malcolm.

“This is all very domestic,” Hayes decides once it’s over- there’s no room to roll off or away. Malcolm gives a little hum of acknowledgement as he cleans them both up. “I didn’t think I would ever- Well I never thought I’d leave Earth, either.” Life is life, Hayes supposes. Things happen.

“Yes,” the tone of voice is soft- he’s never heard him talk so softly before and it’s nice. “I never thought-“ he can’t finish the sentence. Whatever he was going to say disappears into the dark forever. Hayes thinks he understands and lies back as Malcolm sits up, crossing one arm behind his head, wondering if he should wrap the other round Malcolm’s waist. If he’d like that. "Though I'll be having a word with whoever stocks up the shuttle pods before away missions about double-checking their work next time. How we ended up with only one sleeping bag I don't know."

The lantern flares briefly as he moves it to get easier access to something else and lets them see each other better. In the dark, he can’t pretend they look like anything other than people or ghosts at a stretch- he has no imagination- and reverts his gaze back to the black tent. “They didn’t say anything about storms, did they?”

“Storms? No, they don’t think it’ll storm over this part of the continent. Why?”

He shrugs, millions of bugs crawling across his skin and waiting until Malcolm's eyes are back on whatever’s in front of him. “I don’t like storms.”

It’s not a lie, it just doesn’t hint at the truth.

Malcolm doesn’t ask questions and Hayes thinks he understands, too. Perhaps he could explain, despite the lack of questioning; his mother, her expectations, the home-schooling, the childhood, the basement and his mother’s town where storms are common but sound different when you’ve got no way of getting out of the basement; the scratches on both sides of the basement door, he on the stairwell and his dog in the kitchen. No, he can’t explain any of it. He processed it and he’s moved on.

Latches click and there’s a soft hiss which it takes him a moment to place- Sickbay, med kit, hypo-spray. “I don’t like pollen,” Malcolm supplies, brow furrowed as he adjusts the dosage. It’s not the standard med-kit they brought with them from the shuttle pod, rather a slim box with Malcolm’s name on it in standard Starfleet labelling. “Or allergies.”

Now he knows what to listen for, he catches the wheeze to Malcolm’s breathing and feels guilty for the sex, even though he didn’t initiate it. He tries wrapping an arm round his waist after he’s injected the hypo-spray and started packing everything away again.

“That’s one thing to be said for space exploration: no storms and no allergies.”

“That’s two things,” he chides. “Four things: no fathers and no families.”

“Five things: no mothers.”

His eyes flash and his head whips round, “Mother?”

“Mother- why does _everybody_ assume I have daddy issues?” Hayes sighs with exasperation.

“You look the type.” He thinks then adds, “And act like it.”

“ _Thanks_ ,” he tries to put as much space between them as he can. All two inches of it.

“Oh please, as if I’m not the same.”

“It’s the twenty second century; I thought we were past stereotypes.”

“Apparently not- will you stop kicking, now? I’d like to go to sleep.”

“Yes sir.”

It goes quiet. They don’t cuddle, but it can’t be helped when they’re pressed up against each other like this. Hayes knows Malcolm isn’t asleep, just lying quietly; he listens as the wheezing slows down until it’s nearly indistinguishable from breathing. He doesn’t think at all about why he can’t even begin to contemplate sleep until this happens. He doesn’t know how long they’ve been lying there pretending to be asleep before Malcolm whispers, “If we do end up with a thunderstorm, I’ll give you a blowjob to take your mind off it if you think it’ll help.”

What’s the correct response to your commanding officer trying to heal your childhood trauma with sex? It’s not in the MACO handbook.

Unable to see each other, Hayes lets himself smile. “Thanks,” he whispers back. From the soft puff of breath that hits his shoulder, it seems Malcolm is smiling too.

***

A wake up call at three in the morning is never good news. Hayes hits the comm panel before the lights and is already pulling his uniform on, absently amazed to realise he is hoping it isn’t any more bad news about Phlox. He's grown to like their Denobulan doctor. 

“What is it?” he asks as the door to his quarters opens to admit Lieutenant Reed. Within a second, Hayes has analysed his appearance and stops dead.

“I need your help,” Malcolm begins, mask slowly crumbling. “I- I’ve done something.”

***

Archer doesn’t throw him in the brig, but he thinks Malcolm would almost prefer if he did. Instead there’s a _talk_ in Archer’s quarters with two security officers standing guard outside whilst Hayes leads another two in searching Lieutenant Reed’s quarters. It doesn’t take long- it’s as bare of personal possessions as his own, which he hopes will help to mitigate the feeling of violation to his privacy when Malcolm is allowed back in. Hayes feels it’s a pointless exercise, all this, ordered by Archer in the heat of the moment, because Malcolm has already told him everything without being asked but he keeps his thoughts to himself. He’s professional, and it’s good to see the captain’s finally taken a leaf out of his security chief’s book and become less trusting.

The _irony_.

“Sir,” Kemper says, helping Corporal Cole put a heavy box back in the wardrobe.

“Find anything?”

Kemper shakes his head, “Nothing, sir. Only what was on the computer.”

“Right.” Hayes nods. “Dismissed then, Sergeant, Corporal. Go back to bed.”

They bid goodnight and Hayes foes to report to Archer, ignoring the looks of confusion and betrayal on the security officers’ faces as they let him pass- he’ll have to talk to Lieutenant Reed about re-training them on impassivity. The thought brings him up short- of course he’ll still be Chief Security Officer, won’t he?

“I thought I knew you, Malcolm,” Archer is saying. “Whatever hold this Harris has on you, you could have come to me.”

Relief floods through his veins- yes, he will still be Chief Security Officer.

***

Whatever was said in Archer’s quarters that night, Hayes doesn’t want to know. But he can guess, by all means, can uses a little intuition and knowledge of the instincts that are created by childhoods like his and how they burn like exposed nerve-endings when you’re younger. Combine that with Malcolm’s voice echoing in his head saying “I was a young ensign. It was… exciting”, Hayes doesn’t think he can be blamed for saying what he says. Or that he says it as they prowl down the corridors of Qu’Vat on their way to rescue Phlox.

“You know,” Hayes says as they turn a corner, “If you were thinking about doing something stupid because you thought you’d redeem yourself… that’d be a really stupid way to think.”

Malcolm stops at the next corner and they both peer round to see Phlox bent over a Klingon on a gurney, red auxiliary lighting giving the place an eerie glow and Archer and T’Pol in a similar position at the other doorway, phase pistols at the ready.

***

Despite his impromptu (and, he’ll admit, rather shitty) pep-talk, Hayes is not at all surprised when Malcolm does the stupid thing. Only when he's safely alone in his quarters and the adrenaline is worn off can he process that he’s only surprised that he survived doing the stupid thing without a scratch.

Perversely, he thinks Malcolm would almost prefer it if he had been injured somehow, but even in his own head Hayes can’t explain that to himself properly and decides it’s time for him to go to bed. He’s tired and he’s due on his next shift in seven hours. The door chimes. He knows who it is and lets him in anyway.

“What were you thinking” Malcolm demands, spitting with fury and stepping only far enough inside for the door to shut behind him, “saying such things in the middle of a mission!”

“What the hell were you thinking pulling that stunt back on the colony? Or working with Harris? Playing at tightrope between two ships at warp?”

“That’s my bloody job!”

“Really? Because from where I was standing, it seemed like an attempt to redeem yourself in front of the captain!” with every level his anger increases he counts down the half hour of sleep it’s going to cost him and finds he can’t stop. Malcolm shouts something about how _dare_ he accuse him of idealism and Hayes loses it and shouts back that he’s just committed fucking treason and “if you don’t think that’s more important then perhaps you shouldn’t be on this ship!” The mask is back in place again, so well not even Hayes is able to tell it was broken into a million pieces less than forty eight hours ago and it pisses him off. “Get out, Lieutenant.”

He goes. It doesn’t feel like he’s won.

***

[sender Malcolm Reed] _17:01_ _Major_

His Padd dings and he ignores it in favour of finishing his report.

[sender Malcolm Reed] _18:51 Matthew_

It’s a very long report.

He knows already what Malcolm wants to say but that doesn’t meant Hayes is going to make this easy.

[Sender Matthew Hayes] _19:23 I know my own name, Lieutenant_

[sender Malcolm Reed] _19:24 I’d like to apologise for my actions two nights ago_

[sender Malcolm Reed] _19:24 And on the colony_

[sender Malcolm Reed] _19:24 And with Harris_

[sender Malcolm Reed] _19:25 And bruising your kidney_

[sender Matthew Hayes] _19:26 you’d like to apologise or you are?_

[sender Malcolm Reed] _19:26 I am_

 _No one’s ever apologised to me_ but he deletes the message before sending it. Of course people have apologised to him before but no one who’s been to him what Malcolm is to him. _It’s okay_. Deletes that. _I accept your apology._ Deletes that.

[sender Matthew Hayes] _19:28 I detached your retina so I think we’re equal on the last point_

[sender Matthew Hayes] _19:29 if I finished this report and came to your quarters_

[sender Malcolm Reed] _19:30 door is open_

Not for lack of trying or intention does he fail to go to Malcolm’s quarters. Barely has he taken three steps out of his own quarters when there’s an explosion two corridors away and he’s on high alert and running immediately, running so fast he’s reached the scene before the other MACOs have opened their doors to see what’s going on. Hayes prepares himself for the worst.

***

“Corporal Chang will be fine,” Phlox assures him.

“Corporal Chang is a fucking idiot,” Hayes grumbles, watching the man grin over Phlox’s shoulder. The Denobulan says nothing and wisely retreats to the other end of Sickbay. Chang and Cole both look down, guilty grins on their faces. “ _When_ exactly did you think it’d be a good idea to build a still in your quarters, corporals?”

Cole snorts, “The minute we entered the fucking Expanse, sir?”

Fair point.

“And neither of you considered how dangerous it could be?” _Or think to offer me any?_

“Well Commander T-“Cole’s elbow doesn’t cut Chang off quick enough. He’ll be having a word with Commander Tucker after this, that’s for damn sure. “Someone in Engineering checked it over for us, said it was okay.”

Hayes raises an eyebrow and looks down at Chang’s burnt and blistered hands. The knuckles on his right pinkie got the worst of it, essentially melting off from what Phlox told him. From this angle, they could almost be mistaken for tiny pink rose buds instead of lumps of molten skin. The scar from the Xindi disruptor itches under his uniform, no longer the fresh pink it was at the start but faded to blend in with the rest of his skin, like a tear in a piece of paper. Hayes bites his tongue before he shouts at them and doesn’t speak until he’s gotten himself back under control.

***

As soon as Commander Tucker notices him, he's raising his hands in surrender and stepping back slightly. All it does is make him stumble into his office in Engineering and saves Hayes the effort. “I can explain,” he hastily tries, accent thick with fear. “When Amanda asked me to take a look at the still it _was_ all correct- they’d followed the instructions to the letter, Major, honest! What I think happened was they made this- uh, _modification_ , then didn’t adjust for the increased pressure which is why it went…” he gestures with his hands. “Boom.”

“Had either of them been standing in different positions they could have been killed or permanently disabled.” Hayes is in no mood for excuses.

“Hey, we’re all adults here,” Tucker frowns, pulling out the chair from his untidy desk and sitting on it the wrong way. The tiny office is practically overflowing with clutter and the mess makes Hayes want to scream or tear his hair out. “I made sure it was safe when they showed me, what they did after that is on them. I had a look at what was left of the still earlier- it was a clever modification, really wish you’d let some of the MACOs learn some basic engineering skills sometime. Could come in useful.”

“You’ve asked that before, sir. It can’t be fitted in around training rotas.” His men are the best but they need to be training, need to be learning constantly, because if it isn’t a haphazard DIY project it’s a pistol or a knife or a punch and he writes another letter to the next of kin trying to justify the loss.

“Yeah, but…” Tucker runs a hand through his hair and sighs. He can pinpoint the exact moment he gives in and changes tack. “Alright, we’ll have to talk about it some other time. But whilst we’re here and speakin’ of tension, what’s happened to you and Malcolm?”

Hayes freezes and forces himself to exhale as if nothing’s wrong. He’s a professional, after all. “I don’t know what you mean, sir.”

“Oh, bullshit, Major. Look, I planned to do this differently but… you and Malcolm’ve been getting’ along great, now today and yesterday you’re not. Is it the thing with Section 31 he did?” Tucker looks up at him and tries to study him intently, but he’s an engineer not a soldier and doesn’t quite manage it. “’Cause I can understand why that’d be upsetting.”

“I don’t get upset.” It’s not a lie- Hayes is not really the type of guy who feels things.

“What is it, then? Whatever it is, it can _stop_ , before it hurts Malcolm any more.”

Hayes frowns, “I don’t understand what you are saying, Commander.”

Tucker’s face is awash with amazement, “Shoot, you really don’t, do you? I’m trying to give you the shovel-talk here, and you’re just completely oblivious!”

Hayes has seen what Tucker hasn’t: through the glass partition of the office, Malcolm is making his way through Engineering and startles Tucker when he raps on the door before entering without being asked. How he got here so quickly Hayes has no idea, though he wouldn’t put it past him to have arranged a warning system through the armoury staff- ‘my best friend and my lover are in the same room together’, that sort of thing.

“Here are the reports you requested, Commander,” he leads with a pre-prepared excuse, placing a padd in Tucker’s hand. His eyes dart back and forth between the two of them, Tucker seated and emotions broadcasted for all to see and Hayes, standing, carefully dead inside. “Is something the matter?”

“Nothing!” waving the question away, Tucker hastily stands and fiddles with the padd, switching the screen on and off again.

Hayes says, “Commander Tucker said he was giving me a ‘shovel talk’, sir, but I don’t know what that is.”

He’s saved from having to make any sort of awkward explanation of being home-schooled by the thunderstorm that rolls in across Malcolm’s expression, standing even straighter and his mouth going into a thin line. “Is that correct, _Commander_?”

Tucker’s hands go up again. “Hey, Malcolm, I’m just lookin’ out for you here!” he protests, looking wounded. “That’s what friends do.” Ah- Hayes believes he understands what a ‘shovel talk’ is now.

“I am perfectly capable of ‘looking out’ for myself, thank you, Commander! Should you ever doubt that in future, please refer to the eight methods of combat I am proficiently trained in. now if you’ll excuse us, I require Major Hayes for work in the armoury.”

Hayes follows him out of Engineering and into the turbo-lift, staying silent when Malcolm presses the button for B Deck instead of E Deck.

“You’re not upset,” he says. 

Malcolm starts slightly, “Me? You’re the one who ought to be upset.” Hayes understands the look on his face now: worry. As if to prove it, he bites his lip as the doors close and starts to move.

“Okay. What for?”

 _This_ looks is one he knows very well: annoyance. “I told Trip about- _us_."

“Oh that.” Surprisingly, not least of all to himself, Hayes finds he isn’t actually too concerned about that. Unless… “He won’t tell anyone else, will he?”

“Of course not, but....” he steps closer, with a look on his face that, actually, Hayes thinks might be _wonder_. “You don’t mind?”

“No.” 

“Oh.” He smiles suddenly, “That’s good, because Corporal Mackenzie just gave me a similar talk on behalf of the MACOs."

Hayes goes to smile and finds he can’t.

“What’s wrong?”

“Corporal Chang is a fucking idiot,” he snaps “and Corporal Cole for making a still in their quarters. They could have damaged the ship, they could have got themselves killed or disfigured, there’s not even a fucking war on and they could have died! I could have died on the Xindi ship right alongside Forbes and Hawkins. You could have died on that fucking Klingon ship. My mother isolated me so much I don’t even know what a shovel talk is. My father didn't give a shit when I went to visit and neither did yours!”

He stops and breathes out, there’s no pity on Malcolm’s face.

“I feel better now,” he says. “What about you?”

Disgust twists his mouth into a sneer and he scoffs, “Harris found me when I was weak. I’ve been weak ever since.” He looks away.

“Ah one of _those”_ Hayes replies grimly as the lift doors open and they step put onto B Deck. It’s deserted because it’s nearly midnight, but he stops talking anyway. He could have been in Malcolm’s position too, they got him in the right place but the wrong time and he sent the bastard away with a split lip and a broken nose and it nearly cost him his whole MACO career to refuse. _You must have been young_ , he thinks, _younger than I was_. Didn’t Malcolm mention once he joined Starfleet as soon as he turned eighteen?

They don’t resume the conversation until they’re safely in Malcolm’s quarters sipping cups of tea. “Now people are looking at me differently, which is my own fault I know.” _It still hurts_ is left unsaid yet Hayes still hears it. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I think,” he begins slowly “we’re more alike than we want to be.”

“What a ghastly thought, you really have had a bad day, haven't you?” Malcolm ponders, wrinkling his nose and peering down into his tea cup with distaste. Abruptly, he stands, “Wait here, I shan’t be long.”

Ever the good soldier, Hayes obeys and waits for him to come back, drinking his tea- in proper tea cups, which his mother would probably describe as ‘dainty’, with floral patterns on and matching saucers and teapot. All of this with the exhaustion of a very long week makes him prone to introspection and he begins to _think_. He knows he has his faults. He doesn’t talk about his emotions, he doesn’t do any PDA whatsoever, he doesn’t try to forgive people who have hurt him; he doesn’t try to argue back when it’s important and he refers to himself as Hayes even in his own head. He has never told anyone he loves them- he doesn’t think that that will change even for Malcolm but he does think it won’t be a problem with Malcolm. He _fits_ with Malcolm, which might not be the same as being in love quite yet but… it’s still a very nice place to be. 

The door opens and he hears a soft whine before he looks up- Porthos is in Malcolm’s arms and when he puts the little dog down he makes a beeline for Hayes, barking happily and pawing at his knees until he sets the teacup out of harm’s way and lets him sit on his lap. By the bed, Malcolm shifts awkwardly. “I’ve borrowed him for a little while,” he explains. “I hope you don’t mind, it’s just I noticed in San Francisco and you always kept a treat in your pocket for Porthos and… I know this doesn’t make up for having a bad day or- or really make up for anything, really, but I just thought it might help.”

“Thank you,” Hayes smiles, one hand stroking Porthos’ back and the other feeding him one of said treats. “It’s helping already.”

With a smile of his own Malcolm sits back down in his chair and pours himself another cup of tea. “You’re giving me that _look_ again.”

 _I’m happy_. Instead he answers: “Well people might look at you differently for a while yet, but Captain Archer still trusts you enough to let you borrow his dog for the night. What does that tell you?”

Malcolm considers the question and his smile doesn’t falter, “Let me answer your question with another- quite often you annoy me to no end, yet you’re here in my quarters.”

“And actually asked the captain if you could borrow his dog for me,” Hayes interjects.

He rolls his eyes, “And asked the captain if I could borrow his dog. What does that tell you?”

 _It tells me exactly what I wanted to hear_. “I’ll answer _that_ with another question. You can piss me off more than anyone else I’ve ever met and I’m still here in your quarters, what does that tell you?”

They’re both smiling now and Hayes would feel a little silly if it didn’t feel so _good_. They’ve never kissed for the sake of kissing but now he leans over at the same time Malcolm does and kisses him back. “I think that tells me all I need to know,” Malcolm murmurs softly as he sits back in his chair.

Hayes does the same and feels his smile stretch even wider. “Me too.”

**Author's Note:**

> my headcanon for hayes is that his mother is very much like stuart reed and at some point in his teenage years he moved to another state to live with his father when he re-married & the only person in his family who he really talks to at all is his step-mom. also he likes dogs. and I love the macos so I had to include some of their hijinks
> 
> trigger warnings for references to childhood trauma and war, non-graphic depictions of sex, swearing and some hand-waving of canon


End file.
